He shrugs. “Of course, who hasn’t heard of him?”
“Well, Father. Here’s the thing, we think he may be attending a group here called the Holy Army.”
He lowers his head and scoffs. “You know, that doesn’t surprise me, the police suspecting a member of that group. These people are blind zealots. I mean, it’s okay to be passionate about God and all, but there’s a fine line between passion and psychosis.” He’s not as fanatical as I was expecting.
“Would any of them go as far as killing in the name of God?”
His eyes trail away from me. “N-no… but I can see how their zealotry could set off warning bells in one’s noggin.” Avoidance of eye contact is usually a telltale sign of a lie or withholding something. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Father, I can tell you’re withholding something. If you know something, you need to tell us before more people die.”
He looks up at me with a forced smile. “Are you a Christian, Detective?”
“Father, just answer the damn question before I lose my patience.”
“First, you answer mine.” He insists. I hear a clattering behind me, and there is a maintenance man on the balcony repairing a light. He’s been glancing at us since we stepped through the door. Probably just a nosey civilian. They tend to do that when cops are around. I turn back to him. “My religion has nothing to do with anything.”
He smiles. “Please, indulge me.”
I guess I have to ignore my advice if I want this sanctimonious prick’s cooperation.
“Fine, I’ll play along, father. I was raised a Catholic, but I no longer attend Mass like I should. I saw too much evil in the world to take the church seriously anymore.”
He lowers his head, raising his eyebrows. “I’m sorry the world has filled your heart with pessimism.” His voice low and empathetic
I scowl at him and sit Indian style. “I answered your question. Now answer mine!”
He studies me for a brief moment. “Detective, I council recovering drug addicts. I can tell you’re on something. Whatever it is, you’re aching for it. I can see it in your eyes. Oh yes, you’re burning for it. Your partner is probably too oblivious to see it, or he does, and he’s afraid to mention it for fear of creating an unstable work environment. Either way, it’s stamped on your forehead, my child.”
Shit is it that obvious I’m fighting a cocaine addiction.
“And the glassy eyes, say you’re high on something as we speak. I am guessing it’s some kinda pill. You must come back to God, my child.”
I beam a crooked smile at him, swigging scotch from my flask and lighting up a smoke. “This is the house of God! Tobacco and alcohol are not permitted here.” He hisses.
I exhale smoke in his face, and he angrily swats it away. “Neither is lying. And you’re lying your holy ass off.”
“You’re just defiant because deep down, you believe God has abandoned you. Well, I am here to tell you’re wrong, and I pray you realize that before this path of self-destruction kills your very soul.”
I hate to do this because I still have some lingering respect for the church.
“Father, if you know something, you need to tell us your flock could be in danger if the Moonlight Killer is among them. Now, if you won’t cooperate with me, I will force your cooperation by telling your churchgoers there is a possible murder suspect among them, and you’re trying to cover it up. So what’s it gonna be?”
He lowers his head and sobs. “I tried to follow church doctrine… I tried so hard to respect the Seal of Confession, but I can’t. Not anymore. I would rather face the wrath of the church than the wrath of God on judgment day. Evil prevails when apathy makes a home in our hearts. There is only one person here who I believe may resort to killing people for his beliefs. Goes by the name David Drake. He loves to quote that verse it is Easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.’ Now that didn’t set off a red flag till I saw it on the news two weeks ago.”
I glower at him. “Father, thank you for being a human being and not a Vatican robot.”
“I’m so sorry, Detective. I should have come forward sooner. Maybe I could have saved those people he killed. My hands are stained with their blood because I followed the laws of the church.”
Jason scowls at him. “Father, this was an idiotic thing you’ve done. You’re right; you should have told us sooner. But now you have to live with their blood on your hands.”
He wipes his eyes. “Drake lives on Palm River Street. As for the exact address, I can’t help you there. He never gave us an exact address. He has blond hair, about 5’8 blue eyes, I think. And he has a tan, British feller. He’s a bit on the athletic side, you know, no stranger to the gym.”
“Gracias. One more thing, padre?”
He wipes his eyes. “What?”
“Does Drake have any friends in the congregation we could talk to?”
“No. I am the only one who spoke to David, and that was to counsel him and to pay him for the work he does on the church grounds. Our relationship is strictly professional.”
I stand up, leaving the pew. “You have a nice night, Father. Vaya con dios.”
“And you as well, my child.”
Palm River is a small street, not many houses on it. So he doesn’t need to give me an exact address, but all the same, I don’t want SWAT to smash in the wrong door.
“Jason, go out to
